There’s an old story about the willow trees of Trinity Bellwoods Park. Some say an aged grove of willows used to stand in that place, planted more than two hundred years ago. Back when they were young and new, they stood in a forest far outside the growing town. The willows were surrounded by big old oaks and pines, maples, beech, and ash. They watched over the Garrison Creek as it splashed by on its way down toward the lake. It was a remote place. To reach it, you’d have to make the trek up from Fort York along a rough dirt trail, or the long journey from town along the new Dundas Road. In the early 1800s, Trinity Bellwoods was still the domain of wolves and deer.
There was a little cottage nearby, a modest frame house surrounded by the deep forest. This is where the Shaw family lived. They called their home Oak Hill. It was there, in that little house, that Isaac and Sophia are said to have met for the first time and fallen in love. According to the stories, during some of those romantic visits, the young couple would slip away for a while, disappearing to make love under the grove of willow trees her father had planted. Those trees were said to have stood there for at least a century to come — and their descendants might still grow there to this day, a reminder of a tragic love affair and the doomed soldier who would become a Canadian hero.
Sophia Shaw was just a toddler when she arrived at York, the daughter of an officer in the Queen’s Rangers. Aeneas Shaw had fought under Simcoe during the American Revolution and fled north to New Brunswick after the war; all his property had been seized by the rebels. When he heard Simcoe was being put in charge of Upper Canada and getting the Queen’s Rangers back together, Shaw was determined to be a part of it. He led a dozen men on a dangerous expedition to meet up with their old commander in Montreal, walking there from the Maritimes in the dead of winter, trekking hundreds of kilometres on snowshoes to join him.
Shaw and his family eventually moved to Niagara, where he was picked as a member of Simcoe’s Executive Council. It was there that Sophia was born. She was only a year old when her father was sent across the lake to Toronto. He commanded the first group of Queen’s Rangers to begin clearing the forest and building Fort York, preparing to defend the tiny new capital from an American invasion before it had even been founded.
Aeneas and his wife, Ann, soon brought their whole family across the lake with them. They built a small log cabin near Fort York — which they jokingly called Lambeth Palace in tribute to the archbishop of Canterbury’s truly palatial residence in England — and another on their country estate further up the creek. That one became their main residence. But a log cabin was far from enough room for such a big family — by 1798, the Shaws had seven sons and six daughters — so they built their little frame house nearby. They called it Oak Hill, after their old home in Scotland. That’s where they say Sophia Shaw met Major-General Isaac Brock for the first time.
Brock was a British officer, frustrated that he’d been sent to the colonies instead of to fight in the wars that had been raging across Europe ever since the French Revolution. He’d been in Canada for nearly a decade now, readying defences in preparation for an invasion by the Americans. During his time at York, he was a frequent visitor to Oak Hill, consulting with Major-General Shaw as war with the United States drew ever closer.
It was during one of those visits that he must have met Sophia. We only have a single glimpse of what Brock looked like: one portrait painted during his lifetime, endlessly copied and recopied in the centuries since. But we know he was tall, good-looking, and brave. Sophia was gentle and kind, loved by all who knew her. She was still a teenager back then, and Brock in his early forties. But according to the legends, the two fell deeply in love.
They longed to be together. But Isaac Brock was far from a rich man; in fact, he was sending much of his relatively modest salary to his brother, insisting on paying him back for buying Brock’s military commission — rank was often purchased back then. Until Brock paid his debt and established himself on a secure financial footing, he was sure he couldn’t offer his new bride the life she deserved. Rather than getting married right away, the couple got secretly engaged. Or so the story goes.
That’s when tragedy struck. In 1812, all their worst fears were realized. In recent years, tensions between the British and the Americans had been reaching a boiling point. As war between the French revolutionaries and the rest of Europe engulfed the continent, a French general had worked his way up the ranks to seize power and declare himself emperor of France: Napoleon Bonaparte. He’d won victory after victory and now controlled nearly all of continental Europe. Britain was the last major power left standing against him.
The United States was officially neutral and sold goods to both sides. When Britain tried to ban them from trading with Napoleon, the Americans were enraged. And when the Royal Navy, desperate for manpower, began to stop and board American ships looking for deserters, the Americans got even angrier. The British weren’t even being picky about who they grabbed off those ships; sometimes they seized anyone who seemed like they might even be a little bit British, forcing them to join the Royal Navy and the fight against Napoleon. They called it “impressment.” When American ships resisted, British ships opened fire. American blood was spilled.
The bitter wounds of the American Revolution had never fully healed. And now, with the British distracted by Napoleon and showing ever more disrespect to the young United States, the time to settle old scores had come. The Americans declared war on Britain and made plans to invade the Canadian colonies. The War of 1812 had begun.
Many in the United States assumed it would be a quick and easy victory. Thomas Jefferson was confident enough to declare, “The acquisition of Canada this year, as far as the neighborhood of Quebec, will be a mere matter of marching.” And while that quote has been used to poke fun at him ever since, many Canadian settlers assumed the same thing. In the years since the revolution, tens of thousands of Americans had moved north of the border, drawn to Upper Canada by the promise of free land. Surely those Americans would welcome the chance to be brought back under the Stars and Stripes? “We can take Canada without soldiers,” the American secretary of war predicted. “We have only to send officers into the provinces, and the people, disaffected towards their own government, will rally round our standard.” As the United States planned the invasion, they were confident they would be welcomed as liberators. Upper Canada would soon be theirs.
But not if Isaac Brock had anything to say about it.
He’d spent much of his life preparing for this moment. Over the course of the last decade, his impact had been felt across Upper and Lower Canada: he’d built defensive towers, walls, and batteries; reinforced fortifications; trained local militia; and built alliances with the First Nations. When the Americans invaded, Brock was ready for them.
It all started at Detroit. In July 1812, American general William Hull kicked off the invasion by leading his forces across the river into Upper Canada, looting and burning farms and homes before retreating back across the border into the safety of Fort Detroit.
That’s when Brock arrived from York to meet his most important ally. The Shawnee chief Tecumseh had built a confederacy of more than two dozen First Nations from around the Great Lakes. He led thousands of warriors in support of the Canadian colonies in return for the promise of an independent Indigenous nation — a promise that would be broken as soon as the war was won.
At Detroit, Brock and Tecumseh came up with a clever plan to defeat the Americans. Thanks to intercepted messages, they knew Hull’s men were unhappy with his leadership and that he was rapidly losing confidence. They also knew he had a racist fear of Indigenous people. He was vulnerable to a bluff. And so, Brock dressed his Canadian militia in the uniforms of professional British soldiers to make Hull think they were a more impressive force than they actually were. Tecumseh, meanwhile, had his warriors march through the woods surrounding the fort, looping back over and over again so they seemed like an immense army. Brock sent the American general a message playing on his racist fears: “Sir; … it is far from my inclination to join a war of extermination, but you must be aware that the numerous body of Indians who have attached themselves to my troops will be beyond my control the moment the contest commences.”
As the assault began, with Brock riding confidently toward the fort at the head of his army, Hull lost his nerve. He surrendered. Brock had won his first battle without losing a single man.
The western frontier was safe for now. But the Americans were planning a four-pronged attack. Next up: Niagara. An American army was already gathering on the other side of the river, getting ready to invade. So, Brock hurried east.
He’d been knighted for his quick thinking and heroism at Detroit, but thanks to the heroism he was about to display at Niagara, he wouldn’t live long enough to hear the news.
It was in the wee hours of a windy October morning, long before the sun rose, that the Americans launched their attack. The invading army, thousands strong, rowed across the river as British artillery opened fire and musket balls hissed through the air. Many were killed on the crossing, corpse-filled boats drifted downriver into Lake Ontario, but the Americans eventually secured a foothold on the Canadian side and began their climb up the steep cliffs of the escarpment. The Battle of Queenston Heights had begun.
Many familiar names were there to meet the invaders that fateful day: the old fur trader Jean Baptiste Rousseau; the young lawyer John Beverley Robinson; Joseph Brant’s son John. And the battle would cement Isaac Brock’s place among them in the history of Upper Canada.
By the time Brock was roused from his slumber at Fort George, several kilometres away, the Americans had fought their way to the top of the cliffs and seized the heights. It was about seven in the morning when he arrived, gathering a few men at the base of the escarpment. The Americans were far above, obscured by the trees. “Take a breath, boys,” he told his men, “you will need it in a few moments.” Then he dismounted from his horse, drew his sabre, lifted it high into the sky, and led the charge.
Brock rushed up the steep hill through a hail of fire as American riflemen took aim, his men following close behind. His bright red coat must have made an easy target. The musket ball hit him in the chest, just above his heart. You can still see the hole it made in his coat; it’s on display at the Canadian War Museum in Ottawa. The general fell to the ground, his lungs filling with blood as one of his men rushed to his side. “Are you much hurt, sir?” Brock couldn’t reply, just placed his hand on his chest as his strength faded. His men would win the battle, but he wouldn’t live to see it.
There have been many stories told about Brock’s final moments. Some say he used his last breath to give one final battle cry: “Push on, brave York volunteers!” Others claim he asked those present to hide his body so the sight of their fallen general wouldn’t sap the morale of his men. John Beverley Robinson gave a less elegant account of what he saw: an American cannonball striking down one of the men at the general’s side, pitching his corpse awkwardly on top of the dying hero. Others say Brock’s horse was killed with him, buried in the same grave high atop the heights, where the fallen hero is now remembered by a massive column that towers above the cliffs he died to defend.
But perhaps the most heartwarming legend of all those that swirl around Brock’s death is the legend of Sophia Shaw. Her older sister Isabelle lived not far from Queenston, in the town we now call Niagara-on-the-Lake. Isabelle had married John Powell — son of Anne Murray Powell — and Sophia would sometimes venture across the lake to visit them. They say that just a few days before the battle, Sophia arrived to attend a ball at Fort George with her beloved Isaac. So that’s where she was on that bloody day: at her sister’s house in town.
According to the story, Brock woke in the wee hours of the morning to the sound of American cannons booming in the distance. As church bells rang out in warning, the general leaped onto his loyal black steed, Alfred, and rushed out of Fort George in the dark, racing through the cold, wet October morning to join the fight. As Alfred’s hoofbeats thundered along the town’s muddy roads, the citizens came to their windows to see Brock on his way and offer him a prayer.
But according to the story, he didn’t head straight to the battlefield. Instead, he made one quick stop, sparing a few moments to pass the Powells’ house and say goodbye to his sweetheart. Secretly engaged and deeply in love, he and Sophia said one final farewell before he headed off to battle. She handed him a coffee in a stirrup cup, made for drinking on horseback. He downed the drink, said goodbye, and rode away to his death. In this version of the story, as he lay dying from the musket ball in his chest, one last word escaped his lips: “Sophia.”
Niagara-on-the-Lake — called Newark back then — would suffer terribly during the war. The spring after Brock was killed, the Americans seized the town and occupied it for seven months. When they were finally driven out, they set fire to it as they left, razing it nearly to the ground. The Powells’ home was burned with it. A new house was built on the same spot, which is still there today. Now it’s a bed and breakfast called Brockamour, in tribute to the tragic love story.
They say Sophia stayed loyal to her beloved Isaac even in death. According to some, she enjoyed a long and healthy life, but never married. Her heart still belonged to her fallen soldier. Even years after he died, when she appeared at a garden party held at the lieutenant-governor’s residence on King Street, she was seen in full mourning dress, her face covered by a black veil. She lived a long and lonely life, passing away at the age of eighty, buried at the Necropolis Cemetery in Cabbagetown.
Others say she followed her sweetheart to the grave just a few years after he died, and spent her final days locked in a room at the Powells’ new home. Passersby could hear her sobs even on the street, until she finally died of a broken heart. Some say that on certain quiet nights, as you walk through the heart of Niagara-on-the-Lake, you can still hear the faint sound of a woman’s sobs, the crying ghost of Sophia Shaw.
In the end, whichever version of the story you tell, it’s almost certainly a myth. Most historians seem to believe there’s no evidence Sir Isaac Brock ever fell in love with Sophia Shaw, was secretly engaged to her, or said a tragic final farewell with a drink from a stirrup cup. But the story has lived on, passed down from one generation to the next, a romantic piece of Canada’s founding myth.
Brock was a British soldier who didn’t want to be in Canada and who died moments into his first real battle on Canadian soil, but he is still remembered as a national hero. With his quick victory at Detroit and his heroic charge at Niagara, he’d shown that the colonies of British North America wouldn’t be so easily conquered. The Americans wouldn’t be welcomed as liberators. There were thousands willing to fight, and Brock had given them hope they might even be able to win. By the end of the war, it would be clear that the settlers north of the border weren’t the same as those to the south. They were something different. And in the centuries since, as generations of Canadians have told stories about where the idea of their nation began, they’ve told stories of Sir Isaac Brock — a man of myth and legend as much as flesh and blood.